


Unfeeling Feelings and Deep Coat Pockets

by allthemchickens



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, Teen John Watson, Teen Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthemchickens/pseuds/allthemchickens
Summary: To love is a wonderful thing. But what if I'm in love with hating the world





	1. A boring day in lengthy, dull detail

My girl was lovely. She was odd. Her hair was pink. I loved her dearly. She was the kind of girl they wrote stories about I imagine. Her head in the clouds and yet, with her head in the clouds, her hand had found a place in my own hand. 

She looked at me through eyes of great color and as I sat with the back of me leaning against the wall, I turned towards her body. She sat on her knees, her dress coming up slightly over her knee caps. Her one hand sat sweetly in her lap and the other sat enclosed in my two pale hands.

We sat on the floor of our high school. In a hallway of crowded people, all I saw was her. Surely we disgusted the people who walked by. In fact, we did. I read it plainly on their faces and saw the body language of the people who looked on us from the corners of their eyes, faces to the floor. My weak ego would be damaged by their disgust if I had cared. But with my girl at my side, there were no shits to be given to the passer buyers.

In fact, I felt sorry for them. An emotion I was told I lacked. The people who displayed disgust were more or less confused and hated us because they simply did not understand. There were many things my peers did not fully understand. The poor souls who had not experienced love. To them it was foreign and what scared them most was how young we were. As if high school and love did not belong in the same sentence. On the same page.

' _Sherlock_.'

When she spoke she made me love my name. She made me love _me_.

\--

 

I turned from my one side to the other so I was now facing my bedroom window. The amount of sunlight that entered was minimal and reflected my feeling of emptiness. 

'Feeling of emptiness.' What an odd sentence. I would rather feel pain and loss than the pain that was my emptiness. It was clear to me at the same time that I did not want the emptiness to go away, to be filled. It was all I had. The only certainty in my life. 

It was scary at first. The realization I wanted to die. To throw myself off of a building. I often dreamed of the feeling of flying towards the pavement below. My body hitting the ground with a satisfying thud and this would be the end of a very pathetic school boy. Death, of course, was not the only thing I thought about. My mind was racing at most times and It hurt that emotions hardly accompanied these thoughts.

The girl I had been thinking about this morning as I had almost every morning this week, was Aliya Furber, a girl from my year. She was intelligent and attractive in the untraditional sense that made my stomach heat with desire. The way she dressed was also to be admired. It was in a sense, artful. I, of course, had no clue on how to approach her. She like me seemed isolated but unlike me, she seemed very out there at the same time. Fascinating. 

I would not define it as obsessing over her but I did think of Aliya often. Laying next to me in bed in the mornings after I woke up was just one of the less forgiving places of which I thought.

To me, the worst part of school was getting there. The long walk that awaited me every morning. The people. The cars driving by. It was all very hateful.

I thought about every stop light and crosswalk long before I reached them. Looking down at the ground to avoid eye contact with drivers and other pedestrians that may pollute the morning streets, and looking at the same time for stupid drivers who didn't know that a red light meant stop was a skill I had mastered. Every time I looked out for those idiot drivers I questioned why I was doing so. It wouldn't be the end of the world to get struck by a car. I thought about this often too. Getting hit by a car. Not quite in the suicidal sense, just in a cracked hip bone, no-school-for-a-couple-of-weeks, sense.

Once I got passed the busy roads and entered the more quite areas of the walk, I tried my best to just put my hands in the deep pockets of my overworn coat and 'pretend' to not care about anything in the world. Just one lanky leg in front of the other, and an unforced frown as I looked at the sidewalk ahead, until I reached my destination.

Unfortunately enough the destination being school, a personal hell of mine. School spelled out potential opportunities for misreading social cues and dreadful group work that would undoubtedly be the cause of more self-hatred. 

Educators will love to lie to you. Tell you about the education they provide through their little classes. The classes themselves I do not find difficult it is the people in them which I can not understand. This intelligence of mine not only makes me the target for many jokes and hostile looks but it makes school quite boring. It is here where I realize how dull my life is. It is a pity. 

It is the minutes between each class that causes my palms to sweat. Crowds of people walking in every which way. 

And God oh why? Why are there doors to the stairways and why do people feel the need to hold them open for me and why must I always thank them?

My small 'thanks' is about as much as I say over the course of an entire day and I sometimes don't even manage this. 

 

It was math class now. I had made it to second last period. I was a lucky man to know final period was art with Aliya. It was at the expense of my older brothers laughter and my father's disapproval that I had taken an art class. If only they knew it was for the purposes of observing a female interest maybe their male senses would kick in and perhaps congratulate me. Although at this point I had nothing to show for my admiration. Nothing to be congratulated. I was still, at this point, alone. Which didn't bother me as much as one would think it should bother someone in pursuit of love. 

My mother did not fully discuss with me my want to take an art class but I assumed she was, behind my father's back, glad for me. It's not like it was drama. I know what the kids like to tease boys who take drama for. I'm not completely socially uncomprehending. Just a few paintings, stolen glances towards the girl with pink hair and art would end. No big deal. Mycroft's laughter was also something that I had grown used to. 

The math professor, Mr. Lull was beginning class as he always had. Taking his blue whiteboard marker and his paper with all the answers from last night's homework to the front board. 

My completed homework layout on my desk. My pencil in my hand as I tapped it on my right thigh. 

'Ok guys. We're going to take up page 243 questions 1-3. I don't see why any of you didn't finish, it wasn't that much..'

I never really paid attention in class. I simply looked at my papers and teachers assumed I was involved. My high marks proving this theory of theirs that I listened to them intently and with every fiber of my being.

'No one? Ok, let's see. Sherlock? Can you help us out here?' 

Obviously, the class had yet again not offered to answer one of the questions from last night on the whiteboard. And once again Mr. Lull called on me to get up to the front of the class and bless them with the answer my brilliant brain had come up with. I smiled as I met the teacher at the front of the room. I don't know why I smiled, I wanted nothing more than to stay at my desk. I felt I owed it to him. Like I should feel flattered as a student that my teacher was always picking on me. 

Grabbing the blue marker I started to write numbers on the board. Question #2 was all mine. How quickly I despised question 2. Two others stood beside me as they also wrote on the board for questions 1 and 3. I sighed into the board and meaninglessly copied what was written on my homework page onto the white board. I felt connected to the board in an odd way. My arm extended upwards to move the deep blue marker across its surface. It's cool clean surface that made contact with the side of my hand as it glided across its face.

I tried to ignore the fact that all 28 of my classmates were potentially looking at the back of me as I was proving for the thousandth time that I was just an intelligent douche who was 'asking for it'. 

Mr Lull started to talk. 'As I mentioned yesterday our new student is coming today.' I immediately turned to look at our teacher. I turned back to the board as quickly as I had turned away. I started to panic on the inside as I kept writing mindlessly on the board. All this meant was one more person. One more set of eyes when I answered questions on the board. 29 pairs of eyes.

shit shit shit. My desk was one of the few attached to an empty desk. If the new student sat down there... I stopped. The teacher was now talking to a new voice. The voice of a young male. I was done writing. Slowly capping the marker I prayed that when I turn around, the desk beside mine would not contain a new person. Slowly turning around I saw him. He was looking at me. Why was he looking at me?

Realizing I was frozen at the front of the room I moved robotically towards my desk. I sat. Facing the front of the room. I felt guilty for pretending he did not exist. 

'I'm John.'

An introduction. I was shriveling up on the inside. Where were the stupid drivers now? Now would be a great time for their metal automobile to hit my bodies weak frame.

Was he talking to me? I looked at him through the corner of my eyes like the people this morning looked at me and a very flirty Aliya in my dreams. My face had not moved from the front of the room. I'm such an asshole holy fuck. I only hoped the look I gave him wasn't as overly disgusted as the one received in my dreams and occasionally in reality. 

I looked down to the left. Where he sat. On my left side. Minutes passed as he nervously shuffled through his bag that sat on the ground on his left. 

A small sigh escaped my thin lips. 

'Sherlock.'

The boy stopped and sat straight up looking at me. I rolled my eyes casually and hopefully this action wasn't visible to the newcomer.

I looked at his dumbfounded and slightly red face. 

'The names Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.'

He smiled and it was now I who sat dumbfounded. I smiled back. A quick smile but it wasn't forced. 

'A pleasure.' 

After saying these two words he went back to hunching over his bag, rustling through its contents. 

'Do you have an extra pencil by any chance?'

I handed him a pencil from my pencil case that was now in my lap. I had anticipated this question for the past few minutes now. 

I smiled one final smile at the smaller boy with the beautiful face before sitting the remaining length of class in silence. I copied the note for the day into my blue notebook and occasionally looked at the boy to my left. John.

When the bell rang I debated saying something to him but I held back and gathered my things, leaving the classroom faster than I ever had. With the thoughts that the events that had just played out were also part of some elaborate dream, I headed towards the stairways with the doors, and walked in shock to art class.


	2. A possible choice

As the weeks turned to months and these months passed, it became evident to me that my fascination for people had extended that of the girl with pink hair.

Every day was a pattern, a rut, which was supposed to keep you occupied from the realization that your whole life was one big rut. Math followed by Art. John and Aliya and a need to choose. To choose what - was less obvious to me. 

With the newcomer came a new personality. The day John Watson entered the math class for the first time, he was a fragile mess. I was able to convince him, and myself, that I was above him. 

It was as if, for one hour each day, we switched personalities. I was more dominant when in fact, quite the opposite was true at all other times. The boy I had grown fond of was a social butterfly and certainly a force to be reckoned with especially when he took to the rugby fields after school. 

Out of seven games he had played I had attended two. By simply attending these games I felt I had learned a lot about John but every minute spent with him I seemed to learn something more about the blonde boy. 

What I wanted more than anything was a relationship with him. A friendship of sorts I suppose. Unfortunately it was true, I didn't know how. 

On the other side of things was Aliya. I saw her most days except the ones where she ditched class, sometimes for weeks at a time. This confused me so because I thought she was in love with art. Maybe she was in love with the idea of art, like I was in love with the idea of a friendship sparking between John and I. 

On the subject of friendship, today was a very special day indeed. John had invited me to his rugby match. The previous two times had been random and for my own personal interest of observing John Watson. This time was at John's personal request and I think I was going to rather enjoy the experience. 

It was things like this that forced me to question the current relationship between myself and the young man who sat beside me in math class. Unlike Aliya, I saw John every day. He had yet to miss a single class. I admired his timeliness and also like Aliya, admired the way he dressed himself. His sweaters were a staple to his wardrobe. I noticed how strong his arms and back looked and sometimes I couldn't stop noticing.

I found myself staring at John more than what was appropriate. I hated catching myself staring only to feel guilty and force myself not to look at him at the expense of looking queer. Being gay was definitely uncommon still in today's world of 'acceptance'. I looked around the class in panic, hoping none of my classmates noticed my eyes lingering on John a bit longer than they should. 

It's not like I am confessing deep love for the gentleman in sweaters. Simply, I had yet to know what I felt and there was no need to take a beating from some heterosexual, white kid for coming across as homosexual. 

The thing is, John was perfect. But my feelings for lovely, mysterious Aliya still existed. At this point, I found myself to be very sexually confused. 

Every day I was constantly bombarded with posters promoting our schools' gay-straight alliance. It was complete bullshit. I felt no need to join a group of people with different sexual orientations meeting up weekly.

Perhaps I was jealous that I did not know how I identified. Jealous of everyone who seems to know exactly who they are and what they're supposed to be in life.

I fear I was over thinking this. Too poetic for the simplistic dullness of this life presented to me. I had read some poetry before. I hadn't liked it but I knew someone who would. I desperately wanted a reason to gives pages of poetry books to Aliya. Maybe she would appreciate it in some way but most likely she would think I was a freak. 

Here I was again thinking about two people at once. Two people with wonderful souls. I felt an urgent need to choose. It was this urge that was driving me crazy. It's not like I would have to choose. Having to choose would imply both were romantically interested in me, which was not the case. 

What would I even say? Supposing I wanted a relationship with John, what would I have to say? Would I risk a recently attained friendship for a romantic one? I desperately wanted to find someone to love me in return. Logic was telling me there was no merit in a romance. It was just friendship with kissing and hugs. But the more thoughtful part of my mind knew otherwise. Knew it meant more. 

With every math class and every look at John, I realized more and more the need and want I felt to have his warmth pressing into me. How much I wanted to feel his sweater and skin make contact with my own skin. 

It was clear to me John was who I had my eyes on. Although Aliya still fascinated me, it was John who I wanted to be mine.


End file.
